Paralyzed
by keem
Summary: Like a siren's call, she is drawn to him. Unapologetic smutfest for LB7. Contains spoilers. R&R.


**A/N:** Unapologetic smutfest for LB7, whose picture "Creatures of Light and Darkness" had me dying to write some 2nd!release Ulquiorra and Orihime pr0n for _ages_. Lyrics provided by The Cardigans.

--

_when your blood runs dry, you're paralyzed_

_it will eat your mind – did you hold it back?_

_it comes to you in a slow attack, it's the meanest fire_

_(the sweetest way to die)_

--

When Ulquiorra looks at her, all he feels is the primordial hunger.

And in a way, it's almost poetic – because when an Espada releases, they revert back to their true form. And so, these ravenous feelings, borne out of a hollow heart – are just that, empty desires. They are the opposite of friendship, love – all those petty emotions, _human frivolities_ that Inoue and her ridiculous friends thrive off of. This is pure, unfiltered lust, radiating off of him in rays so powerful that surely she can feel it.

And yet, like a siren's call, she is drawn to him.

For a moment, the world around them slows to a standstill. Ulquiorra is vaguely aware of the distorted sounds of Inoue's companions in the background - the muted protests of "no!" and "don't!" – but Inoue, like Ulquiorra, is suspended in the moment. Everything else is a white-washed smear in the background. Ambiguous. Unimportant.

Ulquiorra throws his arm out as though in invitation, and Orihime slides one of her hands into his. Immediately those great, barbed wings of his extend, momentarily enveloping them in its black embrace. Ulquiorra steers Inoue against him, uses spindly, clawed fingers to hold her steady. And then they're in the air.

There is a flurry of movement below, but neither Kurosaki in his ruined state, nor the Quincy, can match the speed of Ulquiorra's takeoff. He's in the air, whisking Inoue to a safe place, away from prying eyes.

A place which, considering the company she currently keeps, actually isn't very safe at all.

--

Inoue's clothes, already in rags, are easily done away with. There's a ripping sound of shredding fabric as Ulquiorra renders what's left of her sleeves asunder. Orihime remains uncharacteristically still as he does so, only moving when Ulquiorra's rough handling of her inadvertently causes her body to move.

He considers simply hiking her skirt up right there and taking her roughly on the floor of the platform. Moments earlier they had landed here, on the top tier of a nearby lower, adjacent building. Kurosaki and the Quincy aren't far from here – he wonders if they're looking down upon Ulquiorra's forceful ministrations in mixed expressions of shock and horror. He wonders if the animal magnetism of it doesn't stir up some kind of unexpected, unwelcome desire – would they feel envy, the betraying sense of lust and arousal? Ulquiorra isn't sure if Kurosaki has the capacity for it, but the Quincy –

_Or would pride hold him back?_

In the end he decides on ripping off the leftover garments of her clothing. The dark, incessant curiosity within him – the same wanton abandon which has driven him to such measures – tells him that he needs to see-feel-know _everything_.

Just as he's about to reduce the remnants of her quipao to mere strips, however, Inoue at least intervenes.

"I'll do it," she insists, reaching behind her to find the hidden zipper before gently pulling it down. The clothing parts and sheds like a second skin before dropping to her ankles. Inoue easily steps out of them, casting them aside with one delicate swish of her foot.

The bra and the panties go next. White, everything about her outfit is _white_ – something that Ulquiorra has approved of in the past, perhaps even carried a certain fondness of. But now all he can think about is how he'd very much like to soil them, mar that perfect bleached (_virginal_) cloth, taint them with their shared essence.

Wordlessly, he clasps both of his hands on either of her shoulders, forcing her knees to bend until she's in a kneeling position. Inoue obliges, but her chin remains tilted up, eyes trained resolutely on his impassive face as he does so. It is a staring contest that, for once, the human girl does not lose. In the end, it is Ulquiorra who looks away, eyes feasting themselves upon those supple curves instead. Inoue's nipples, exposed to the night air, have become stiff and hard, like tiny pebbles; the pink slit between her legs, now parted slightly, is wet with need, and he can smell her arousal. The scent of her is like a potent aphrodisiac, and the air around them, already tense and heady, becomes charged; Ulquiorra finds himself uncharacteristically impatient as he bends her backwards until she is lying, legs spread lewdly, before him.

Ulquiorra sinks down to his own knees before her. His own arousal, growing steadily with every passing moment, now becomes apparent through the dense fur of his lower torso. It juts out angrily before him, menacing, aggressive. And yet not once does Inoue waver; not once does she look afraid.

One of Ulquiorra's clawed hands finds purchase on Orihime's skin. They trace the slopes of her body – the pinch of her hips, the pert tips of her nipples, the soft, downy hair of her mound – wantonly, almost ravenously. There is nothing gentle about Ulquiorra's wandering hands.

Finally, the need to join himself completely with her becomes too great, and her legs, already splayed invitingly open for him, are pushed apart further as he leans between them. His tail – before thrashing about like an anxious, impatient lion – now coils tightly around Inoue's leg as he pierces her.

The ginger-haired woman winces in pain as something gives way inside of her. But once he establishes a liquid rhythm, the painful grimace she wears melts away into something different entirely. Her eyes flutter closed as Ulquiorra hooks her around the waist, drawing her closer to him.

Orihime tilts her head back, eyelashes falling gently closed. Not once does she meet his gaze during their frantic coupling, whereas Ulquiorra is just the opposite, since he can't simply _stop _looking at her. His amber optics flick from the enraptured look on Inoue's face to the twitching of her thighs as he mercilessly pounds her. He notes the contrast of colors and shapes; the black spindly claws holding the pink, silken wrist over her head, rooting his captive firmly in place. His eyes sweep over the place where their bodies incessantly meet, the growing wetness there; they travel to the proud mounds of her best, the pulse at her neck; later they take in the more mundane things, the barely-there, nearly colorless hair that dots the tops of her arms, the beauty mark on one round hip.

For a long time, there is nothing but the wet slapping sounds of their flesh colliding, the mingled sounds of their breathing, and Inoue's occasional sigh. The young woman's unusual silence is disquieting in itself; for once Ulquiorra wishes that she would talk, if only to distract him, stave off his impending orgasm. But left to his own devices, he is only allowed a few more thrusts before the sensations overwhelm him completely. He buries himself to the hilt and presses his head into the waves that adorn either side of Inoue's face like a ginger halo. Inoue's legs, already thrown around his rutting waist, squeeze him tightly once, and then it's over.

It's only after that Ulquiorra takes notice of certain things, like the cold sweat that's dripping down his back, or the matted hair that surrounds his genitals, now dewy and uncomfortable from his exertions. His tail, which had so fiercely furled around Inoue, had left dark, spiraling bruises that went all the way up her thigh. The injury actually startles him somewhat; despite his carnal appetite, he had never once intended to harm her.

Something about his expression must have been telling, because when Inoue opens her eyes, she smiles wistfully. "Don't worry, Ulquiorra," she says, as gently and as reassuringly as she can. "We all lose ourselves sometimes."

Ulquiorra does not speak – not because he doesn't _want_ to, but because he truly can't find the words.


End file.
